


So Wrong, So Right

by ConeyIslandBlitz



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consensual Choking, Daddy Kink, Dom!Eliot/sub!Quentin, Dom/sub Play, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone after Margo is merely mentioned, Highly Queliot-centric, Knife Play, Light Bondage, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, dark!fic, mild blood play, not graphic enough to warrant the graphic depictions of violence warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConeyIslandBlitz/pseuds/ConeyIslandBlitz
Summary: - In which Eliot and Quentin give in to some dark desires as a form of catharsis, thus reclaiming their trauma in a morally grey way.OR- In which Quentin never died after freeing Eliot from the Monster and they can actually heal together.





	So Wrong, So Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldwaughtersq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwaughtersq/gifts).



> Yooooooo, guess who's back with new content!  
> And guess who once again loses her fandom virginity with problematically therapeutic knife play!  
> I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> I'd like to thank Gigi for helping me with this; there will have been others but this fic was so long in the making I've forgotten who else helped me so if you wanna take credit for that, hmu in the comments <3

Quentin was rudely awoken by a stray ray of sunlight peeking through the curtain of his bedroom window. He grabbed his phone from his bedside table and saw upon checking the time that it was past 10am. He also noticed what day it was. He felt Eliot stir beside him and watched him wake up.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Guess what?”   
“Mm… what?” Eliot asked, his voice still deep and rough from sleep.   
“You’ve been back with us for precisely six months now,” Quentin answered, beaming with pride. It makes them both reflect on how far they’d come together since the what for Eliot proved to be an extremely painful exorcism.   
  
Eliot needed a good two, maybe three months to physically heal from not only the Monster’s neglectful treatment of his body, but also the axe that he took to the gut a la Margo. Once he was able to walk without his cane again, he’d revert back to his usual touchy behaviour with Quentin, but it was clear that Quentin was still not ready for that, because one time Eliot just came up behind him and touched his shoulder without warning and Quentin flinched, hard. This had hurt Eliot somewhat, but he understood why once Quentin had explained to him how affectionate the Monster could be from time to time, and also the Monster’s penchant for just blipping in unannounced. Since then though, at every opportunity, Quentin would just grab Eliot’s hands, place them on the parts of his body the Monster touched the most, like his neck, his arms, his shoulders, and he would force himself to look into Eliot’s eyes, as a reminder to himself that this is Eliot, and not the Monster. The Monster was dead and gone now, and couldn’t hurt him anymore. By doing this, they both gradually got comfortable with showing each other the affection they’d been desperately craving to give.

 

By the time Eliot had been back four months, they were sharing a bed at night, just like back in Fillory, back in their other life. Night after night, they would just talk about everything and anything, just catching up, gossiping, and now and again Eliot would ask a few questions here and there about the Monster, and what he made his body do while he was trapped in his Happy Place in his mind. He made a point not to push Quentin though, he had faith that he’d tell him more when he was ready to say it. Quentin still had a long way to go, because this is trauma that no-one is likely to overcome overnight, but baby steps, and he was determined to reclaim this trauma so it can never hurt him again. He made a point to keep allowing Eliot to touch him as the Monster always did, because he could see how it broke Eliot’s heart to see the love of his life still so terrified to be touched by him, but also that helping Quentin was helping him too. Eliot knew that he needed Quentin to feel safe around him again, and with every touch he mimicked, he was getting there.

After hitting the five month mark, Quentin was feeling more comfortable with telling Eliot the more shameful parts of his time dealing with the Monster, namely all the times he felt like he was so close to giving in, because he felt like the Monster was the only one left who cared enough to try to comfort Quentin in his own way when he saw Quentin was upset. This came to be a twisted brand of Stockholm Syndrome that Quentin refused to allow to develop, that it took all he had not to allow himself to feel the desire to be touched by the Monster using Eliot’s hands. There was not only that, but the shameful rush of adrenaline he felt when the Monster choked him. Eliot’s heart broke all over again to hear how this brave, beautiful man had to suffer so much by his hand - even if it wasn’t him taking the wheel – and that he had to go through all of that alone. Many nights were spent with tears flowing and shared embraces. Eliot knew he wasn’t at fault for how the Monster steered his body, but the pang of guilt at the fact that it was his body still hit him harder than the axe Margo had driven into him.

“I can’t- I can’t lose you again, Eliot. I barely survived this,” Quentin had confessed one night, curling up into Eliot like he were a safety blanket.   
“Oh, Q…” Eliot was lost for words for a moment, so he just held Quentin and stroked his hair, until he remembered what he still needed to say to the man in his arms, “Hey, Q… I don’t think I ever told you this, but… Do you remember when I broke through and reclaimed control of my body for that one moment?”   
“Yeah, we were at the park,” Quentin recalled with a smile.   
“Well… The thing I had to do to get through to you was, um… I had to confront my most repressed and traumatic memory. And that memory wasn’t killing Logan, or betraying Margo, or even killing Mike, like you’d expect. No, it was, um… It was the day I turned you down, when you asked me to give us a shot, Q. I told you I loved you then, and I meant it. I still do. I’m so desperately in love with you, Q, and- I didn’t know how to process that then, but… I do now. I was terrified of fucking up the beautiful friendship we had- still have. So I was a coward, and I ran away, and I broke not only your heart but also my own in the process,” Eliot confessed, while Quentin just listened intently, patiently.   
Quentin lifted his head from where it was resting on Eliot’s chest. “Eliot, I- uh, I love you too, so much, but… I’m not sure either of us are ready for that right now. We both still need to heal, up here-” Quentin pointed to his head- “but… one day, when the time is right…” he trailed off.   
“Of course, Q. When the time is right,” Eliot agreed.   
They continued to hold one another until they’d fallen asleep, each desperately wanting to kiss the other, but resisting the temptation because it would completely defeat the purpose of the pact that they’d just agreed on.

Between then and the six month mark, Eliot realised that thanks to Quentin, his nightmares had mostly dissipated. All of the friendships he had before – Fen, Margo, Julia, even Alice – had been restored to their former glory and then some. If anything, they’d all grown closer for this ordeal, and everyone was glad to see him and Quentin get back on their feet.

However.   
He and Quentin still suffered from what they themselves called ‘intrusive thoughts’ from time to time, and they were of the, um… sexual nature.

Fast forward to the six month mark. The two lovebirds-not-lovebirds were relaxing in bed together for a while, just enjoying each other’s company, when there was a loud and rude knock on their bedroom door.   
“You two had better not be fucking in there on my watch, bitches!” Margo yelled with mock-exasperation.   
“We’ll be right there, Bambi!” Eliot yelled back. He turned to Quentin and said, “I guess we’ve been summoned.   
Quentin snickered, “Yeah, I guess we have.” They both got out of bed – albeit reluctantly – and got dressed to join the rest of the gang for breakfast at the kitchen.

Everyone was talking amongst themselves, really. The Monster wasn’t the only problem the gang had been facing lately; Kady and Alice were teaming up to discuss their next move on the Library, Julia and Penny23 were being kinda gross with their public display of affection – ‘when had that become a thing?’ Quentin and Eliot both wondered – and Margo was having Fillory talk with Josh. Margo was planning to reclaim her kingdom, and Fen was of course in on it, though her advisors could never know about this. Eliot noticed how affectionate Josh and Margo were with each other, and gave her a look that said, ‘wow, I really missed a lot while I was away,’ but that look changed to one that said, ‘you do you, Bambi.’ Margo smiled back sweetly and full of gratitude, the way she only ever did with Eliot.

Eventually everyone took leave of the kitchen to carry on sorting out all of their affairs, giving Quentin and Eliot the apartment to themselves for a bit. Eliot sighed, in equal parts relief and exasperation. Quentin looked at him, questioning, and Eliot worked up a little bit of courage.   
“I don’t know about you, Q, but… I feel like we’re sorta being… coddled?”   
“Yeah… No, yeah, exactly, I know what you mean, like- I have offered them all my help so many times, and it’s always-”   
“Always some bullshit like, ‘no thank you, you just focus on healing, Q needs you and you need him’-”   
“Which is all well and good, and bless them for thinking of us, but I swear to God, Eliot, I’m about to go-”   
“Stir crazy,” they said in unison. Quentin and Eliot looked each other in the eyes for what seemed like hours, properly taking each other in for the first time in what they swore was forever. The feeling of mutual love they were experiencing in this moment was overwhelming. Quentin stepped closer to Eliot, placed a hand on his neck ever so gently, and stroked Eliot’s cheek with his thumb. Eliot closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, much like a cat who’d gone far too long without a human to pet him. He placed his own hand atop Quentin’s and then leaned in to kiss him. Now, the time felt right. It felt so right. The kiss started off somewhat tentative, chaste even. All Quentin felt was the love and tenderness of Eliot that he’d missed all this time. Quentin took it upon himself to deepen the kiss and pull Eliot closer to him. He found himself desperate and full of want; he wanted to feel Eliot’s body, his skin on Eliot’s skin. Quentin held onto Eliot’s waist as they kissed, and he almost didn’t register Eliot’s hands snaking around his neck. Eliot was so lost in the kiss that he hadn’t realised he’d begun to squeeze… until he heard Quentin gasp for breath. He pulled away immediately, hands up in a defensive position.   
“Q, fuck- I’m so sorry, I-” he felt himself start to panic, but Quentin approached him, taking his hands into his own and entwining their fingers.   
“Still having intrusive thoughts, huh?” Quentin asked, looking from their entwined hands into Eliot’s eyes. He saw Eliot choke back a sob and whisper, “Yeah,” and Eliot hung his head in shame. Quentin then lifted Eliot’s head so he could look into his tear-filled eyes. He gave an understanding smile, and said, “Don’t worry, me too.”   
Eliot sighed out of pure relief and hugged Quentin as tight as he could allow himself to risk without hurting him. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Quentin. Thing is, what Eliot didn’t know was that Quentin’s intrusive thoughts involved precisely that; a desire to be hurt by Eliot. Preferably with something sharp. Quentin wondered to himself, ‘what if we just gave in? Would we go too far and accidentally kill each other? Or would we know when to stop?’ He realised that to do so was a highly counterintuitive coping mechanism, but at the same time, maybe having Eliot hurt him would overwrite the memory of the pain the Monster had inflicted upon him? There’s only one way to find out, and judging by the terrified look in Eliot’s eyes when he realised what he was doing in the heat of the moment, Quentin knew better than to pitch that idea to him right now. The entire time he and Eliot were locked in each other’s embrace, Eliot was stroking Quentin’s back and resting his chin on Quentin’s head. They’d also, inexplicably, begun swaying together.   
Quentin’s head was resting once more on Eliot’s chest, his ear in line with the sound of Eliot’s now-steadying heartbeat, when Eliot softly asked him: “So, Q… what are yours about?”   
“Hmm? Oh, my intrusive thoughts? I’m not sure you wanna-”   
“Look, you don’t have to tell me, I just got curious. I just figured, you know mine now, so… don’t be ashamed to tell me yours.”   
“Eliot, I- after what just happened, it’s- I think it’s too soon-“

 

Saved by the bell. Well, the front door, anyway. Kady and Alice had regrouped in the living area and took seats on the big grey corner couch. Quentin, once over getting startled by the sound of the door, whispered to Eliot, “tell you later,” and pecked him quickly on the cheek before making his way over to the two women who clearly had news to share. Eliot soon followed.

Later that night, after they’d gone to bed and settled down in just their boxers, Quentin blurted out, “That was kinda hot, by the way,” before he could stop himself.   
“What, making out in the kitchen?”   
“No- well, obviously that too- but, uh. Could you, um-” Quentin turned to face Eliot now, “Could you just, um-” Quentin went right in and kissed Eliot, with the same hunger as they did after breakfast. Quentin made to straddle Eliot, reached for Eliot’s hands and guided them to his neck.   
“Q, what-” Eliot began to protest between kisses, but his hands moved just an inch or so upwards, so he could stroke Quentin’s cheek with his thumb.   
“Please, El, just- just do it, I trust you-” Quentin pleaded against Eliot’s mouth. Eliot took a moment to really look into Quentin’s eyes, and saw nothing but love and sincerity. Quentin kissed Eliot again, and flipped them over so Eliot was on top of him, hands still on his neck, in the right position for choking now. Eliot looked down at this beautiful man, who just said he trusts him, looking as heavenly as he does right now, and he was in awe.   
“You trust me…” Eliot repeated, his heart about to burst with joy. He gently applied some pressure with his hands to Quentin’s throat, while he kissed Quentin, who caressed Eliot’s bare skin, his own body filling up with lust as he went. He then cupped Eliot’s cock over his boxer shorts and began to rub in the hopes that he could make Eliot want this as much as he did. Well, that wasn’t a difficult task.

Eliot instinctively knew to release the pressure on Quentin’s throat before it got too dangerous, and so he moved his own hands lower, one palm planted flat on Quentin’s chest, the other dragging his fingertips slowly and gently down Quentin’s torso until he reached his gloriously hard cock. Quentin moaned into Eliot’s mouth at the sensation of his hand stroking his member slowly up, then down. Quentin found himself thrusting his hips in time to the rhythm of Eliot’s strokes. Both Quentin and Eliot had missed being together like this. During their life at the Mosaic, they’d had their share of up and downs; hot and aggressive hate sex, soft and passionate make-up sex, outright romantic and tender lovemaking. The latter of the three had happened most rarely, but now, despite Quentin’s new found kink for being choked, this was one of those romantic and tender lovemaking moments, so damn right they were gonna savour this. Eliot was grinding into Quentin to the same rhythm, the sound of both of their moans in unison was like music to his ears.   
“El… please…” Quentin began to beg between moans.   
“What do you need, Sweetheart?”   
“I… need you… inside me… now,” Quentin breathed out against Eliot’s mouth. Eliot let out a hollow laugh, lost in the pleasure of being with Quentin.   
“Anything for you, Sweetheart,” Eliot replied and leaned down to kiss Quentin, slow and hungry.   
Quentin was the one to reach for his bedside drawer and rummage around for his secret stash of lube, to Eliot’s surprise. Eliot shot Quentin a look that said, ‘oh really, now?’   
“What? A guy has needs, Eliot, and sometimes I like to use it on myself,” Quentin casually explained, knowing the look Eliot was giving him. They both laughed as Quentin passed the bottle to Eliot.   
“Fifty years at that fucking Mosaic and you still continue to surprise me, Coldwater,” Eliot said in a complimentary manner, generously applying some lube to his fingers.   
“Well, the saying goes, ‘It’s always the – _oooohhh, fuck_ – quiet ones you gotta – _yeeessss, right there_ \- gotta watch out for’, right?” Quentin tried to explain, interrupted by the ecstasy of feeling Eliot sliding his finger inside him and hit the sweet spot while he spoke. Eliot established a rhythm with the one finger for now.   
“Oh honey… quiet is the last thing I want you to be right now,” Eliot purred encouragingly as he continued to work Quentin open and take his throbbing cock into his mouth. His own erection, he was saving for thrusting into his wildly submissive lover underneath him. The short staccato moans coming from Quentin were shameless and gradually getting higher in pitch.   
“El… Darling… ‘M not gonna last…” Quentin panted, chasing the orgasm that was threatening to overtake him, but then Eliot pulled away slowly, eliciting one long, low, guttural moan from Quentin. Eliot allowed Quentin to take a breath to brace himself for the main event, in the meantime aligning his cock with Quentin’s hole and giving a little tease with the head before pushing it into Quentin, long and slow, as a means of drawing out the most obscene moan from Quentin’s mouth. Quentin was on the verge of complete bliss and ecstasy already.

Once Eliot was balls deep inside Quentin, he rolled them over so Quentin was on top of him.   
“Let me see you ride my dick, Sweetheart. I want to watch you fall apart right on top of me,” Eliot said, knowing how much Quentin loved being bossed around like this in the bedroom. Quentin wasted no time in obeying Eliot, and he was eager and determined to reach climax tonight. Quentin started off nice and slow, almost testing his own stamina in a way, and gradually picked up the pace as he saw fit. He loved hearing Eliot moan with pleasure, and he never wanted it to end. Eliot began thrusting in time to Quentin’s rhythm, surprising him with a single extra hard thrust from time to time, and eliciting a loud gasp from Quentin.   
“Don’t stop, El… fuck… feels divine,” Quentin pleaded, leaning down to kiss Eliot. Eliot then flipped them over so Quentin was once again on his back.   
“Your wish is my command,” Eliot replied, lifting Quentin’s legs up so he could thrust extra deep into him, hard and fast, hitting the sweet spot each time. The pace got increasingly erratic, and Eliot reached his hand towards Quentin’s cock and stroked just as erratically.   
“Cum for me Q, cum for Daddy,” Eliot commanded, and soon after, he reached climax and came balls deep inside Quentin, who swiftly followed. Eliot pulled out of Quentin and collapsed next to him on the bed, utterly breathless.

It took them both a hot minute to recover from the Earth-shattering reunion sex they’d just had – so much for tender lovemaking - and Quentin was the first to speak.   
“Needed that,” he said, stating the obvious for comedic effect, which clearly worked because Eliot burst out laughing.   
“Gee, ya think?” Eliot retorted with laughter in his voice. He then sighed a contented sigh before forcing himself out of bed so he could clean both himself and Quentin up, and then they could sleep.

 

***********

 

One afternoon, Quentin and Eliot were once again left alone together in the apartment and Quentin was making lunch, while Eliot was taking a shower. Quentin was in the mood for a fruit salad – it was different because let’s be real, he’s been traumatised off quesadillas for the rest of his life, it was simple enough and also guaranteed to be un-fuck-up-able – so he grabbed two apples, two bananas and a bunch of grapes (enough for both him and Eliot because good gosh, Eliot needed the vitamins too) to get ready for peeling and chopping. It didn’t take incredibly long to do but in the time it did take, Quentin’s mind had begun to wander to what he called a darkish place. He couldn’t help but be curious about how it would feel to have this sharp blade being dragged down his chest, and to have Eliot grind down against him while he did it. Before he could stop himself, he took the sharp end of the blade to his index finger and just… enjoyed the sharp feeling. No need to draw blood, necessarily, just the feeling of a sharp edge against his skin was enough… for now. He hadn’t noticed Eliot approach him with equal parts curiosity and concern until he suddenly saw Eliot appear in his peripheral vision, and he snapped out of it. He saw the look in Eliot’s eyes and was hit with shame.   
“Um… sorry, I uh- I don’t know what came over me,” Quentin said in a small voice, putting the knife down, leaning against the kitchen counter where he had been working to slice up all that fruit. Eliot looked between the knife and Quentin, attempted to put two and two together, and then went to hug Quentin from behind, resting his head on Quentin’s shoulder.   
“You know, babe, whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, you can tell me, right?” he said softly.   
“I know, it’s just- you know my history, and- I was worried you would think I were about to hurt myself, but- but I promise I wasn’t gonna, I- I guess… I guess I just got curious about... something else,” Quentin said in response, a little too defensively for his own liking. He turned to face Eliot, but avoided his gaze. Eliot lifted Quentin’s chin up so he had to look into Eliot’s eyes.   
“Curiosity is nothing to be ashamed of, Sweetheart. I wanted to choke you, remember?” Eliot said reassuringly, leaning in to press a soft and tender kiss to Quentin’s lips, and didn’t press the subject further. He knew better than anyone not to put Quentin on the spot. Quentin felt a shiver go down his spine at the feeling of Eliot’s fingertips going from his shoulders down the length of his arms.   
“Thank you… for being so patient with me,” Quentin murmured softly against Eliot’s lips, and returned the sweet, chaste, caring kiss which ended up getting deeper and deeper. To hell with the fruit salad.

 

Night fell, and the two lovebirds were in bed, talking once again; Quentin was telling Eliot more about the Monster’s mannerisms, and how he was thankful the Monster never discovered sexual interactions. Quentin mused that this was because the Monster was far too childlike to understand such interactions, and yet there had been many a time where he’d fantasised about interacting with the Monster in this precise way, and Quentin felt incredibly ashamed to admit he’d ever felt that way, but at the end of the day, it was Eliot’s body, and he was spiralling so far and so deep into his depression, he’d become desperate to feel loved. By anyone. Even if it ended up being the Monster. It was Eliot’s body he truly caved. Quentin is telling him all this because it’s Eliot, the one person who never judged him for anything, ever. It was cathartic to get it off his chest, but Quentin still felt bad for dumping all of his emotional baggage onto Eliot. Eliot didn’t mind one bit, because it meant Quentin was allowing himself to feel safe under his touch, just like before.

Eliot then suddenly remembered the knife incident from that afternoon.   
“Hey Q, you promised to tell me what your intrusive thoughts were about, and you never did.. I don’t suppose it would have anything to do with this?” Eliot asked, holding up a decorative knife he’d totally forgotten he received as a welcome-back-to-your-own-body gift from Fen. Quentin felt conflicted; how did Eliot figure that out? How is he not, like, offended by this? The mixture of guilt and lust showed in his eyes as he looked between Eliot and the knife. He swallowed and nodded. This put a dark smile on Eliot’s lips, and Eliot gently dragged the cool blade down Quentin’s cheek by the dull side, then further down his neck. Quentin’s breath hitched and his eyes fell closed.

“Quentin, will you play with me?” Eliot softly and seductively whispered into Quentin’s ear. The need, the want, the desire, grew within Quentin.   
“Yes, I’ll play with you,” Quentin obediently answered, which was rewarded with a hungry kiss from Eliot, who then got up from the bed to grab a pair of scarves Penny had left lying around. When he returned to the bed, he gently pushed Quentin down into a lying position on the bed, pulled his wrists above his head to tie them to the bedpost with one scarf, then blindfolded Quentin with the other.   
Lastly, Eliot straddled Quentin and asked him, “Quentin, do you trust me?”   
“Yes, I trust you,” was the once more obedient answer from Quentin’s lips.   
“Good. This is going to be such a fun game,” Eliot teased. He began immediately with another stroke with the blade down Quentin’s neck, going down his chest.

“How does that feel?” Eliot asked.   
“So good, El... Please… make it hurt,” Quentin was begging for more already.   
“All in good time, Kitten. Daddy wants to play, so Daddy will play,” Eliot replied, planting kisses all over Quentin’s body, eliciting pleased but also longing moans from him. He then dragged the knife back up, and then once more down Quentin’s neck, allowing the sharp tip of the blade to trail across his skin. Quentin bit his lip from the gorgeous sensation. Eliot gradually applied more and more pressure each way, until he heard Quentin hiss. He’d made Quentin bleed. Quentin arched his back and started to grind against Eliot, hoping for some friction on his cock. Eliot then leaned down to lick the wound he’d just inflicted.   
“ _Yessss_ , Daddy… just like that,” Quentin breathed out, becoming more ecstatic at the sensations he was feeling but couldn’t see coming, and he was answered by the taste of his own blood on Eliot’s tongue. Eliot had begun to meet Quentin halfway with his thrusts; they’d both become hard now and totally into it, morals be damned. What Eliot wanted right now was to bombard Quentin with equal parts pain and pleasure, and Quentin was his more than willing victim, submitting to Eliot entirely, begging for _moremoremore_.   
Quentin moaned into Eliot’s mouth.   
“Please… Daddy… mark me… make me yours. I don’t care who sees,” Quentin pleaded, needing to feel such sweet delicious pain.   
“I’d love nothing more, Kitten,” Eliot conceded, and then sunk the blade a little deeper into Quentin’s chest, just deep enough for it to bleed and to guarantee that it would scar. Quentin gave a loud, satisfied gasp, breathed out a “ _yessss_ ,” and completely lost himself in the feeling.   
Eliot was hard at work carving his own initials into Quentin’s flesh, as requested. When he was done, he once again lapped and sucked on the wound, and then kissing Quentin, going all-in with his tongue, asserting his dominance over the man underneath him, who was just dying and desperate to be fucked good, hard and rough.

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good, Kitten,” Eliot said with one final stroke of the blade against Quentin’s neck by the sharp side, but he didn’t stop there. He continued to trail that blade all down Quentin’s chest, down his torso, all the way _down- down- down-_ until he reached Quentin’s throbbing cock. He decided to tease Quentin there with the tip of the blade for a moment, ever so gently, and then – since they undressed down to their underwear when they retired to bed for the night – he put the knife away and pulled Quentin’s cock free of his boxers. He teased Quentin further with his hands and mouth. The whines and moans and the soft ‘ _pleasepleaseplease_ ’ mantra coming out of Quentin’s mouth encouraged Eliot further.   
He worked Quentin open with his fingers little by little, until he was ready to take the full force of Eliot’s cock inside him. The initial penetration felt utterly glorious, to both of them. Eliot’s thrusts began steady, while he played with Quentin’s nipples for extra pleasure. He was soon overcome with an animalistic desire to completely dominate Quentin, and so his thrusts became increasingly rough and forceful, which Quentin utterly adored. Shared moans were as good as harmonious, and Eliot was also jerking Quentin off good, hard and fast to match how roughly he was fucking him, and they both climaxed harder than ever before.

Eliot untied Quentin and removed his blindfold, all the while delivering post-orgasm kisses to his Little Kitten, who had immediately upon his freedom shot up and wrapped his arms around Eliot.   
They then both flopped down together on the bed and just held each other and kissed each other, riding out the good feeling together in their bubble.

“Honey, you’re shaking,” Eliot commented, “I didn’t go too rough on you, did I?”   
“No, babe, no,” Quentin answered, unable to open his eyes, “that was perfect. A little overwhelming… but perfect. Just… just give me a minute, and- hold me, please.”   
“Of course, Sweetheart. We have all the time in the world,” Eliot said in affirmation, this time using a little magic to clean them both up so they could settle down right away.

 

‘We’re gonna be okay,’ Eliot thought to himself, ‘if this is how we heal, then who am I to argue?’ He allowed sleep to overtake him.

**Author's Note:**

> And... thoughts? hmu on the Twitter: @ConeyIsleBlitz


End file.
